


oh diamond deeds (a man of notoriety)

by blackkat



Series: IruKisa Drabbles [2]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Teachers, First Kiss, Friendship, Humor, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-18
Updated: 2019-09-18
Packaged: 2020-10-21 04:08:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20687267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/pseuds/blackkat
Summary: “I didn’t tell Sakura and Naruto to pick fights,” Kakashi says, aggrieved. It’s mostly a lie, Iruka can tell. “I just encouraged them to get involved in community watch programs and keep an eye on things.”There’s a moment of incredulous silence as Rin and Iruka both stare at him.“Kakashi,” Rin says flatly, “Sakura’s never met a problem she hasn’t tried to punch in the face.”





	oh diamond deeds (a man of notoriety)

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt: I was thinking og a KisaIru mob AU, with Kisame as Mob Boss and Iruka as a Teacher. Just----imagine the Big Bad Mob Boss head over heels for the elementary school teacher. Bonus points if Kisame's kid (adoptive? From a previous marriage?) is in Iruka's class. 
> 
> I did not get the bonus points, and I swapped elementary school for high school in my head somehow, but I hope you won't mind!

A flash of silver across the schoolyard draws Iruka’s attention like a magnet, and he instantly spins on his heel and shouts, “Kakashi!”

At the edge of the chain-link fence, Kakashi’s head goes down, his book comes up. He goes to quicken his pace, and Iruka braces himself for a long, frustrating chase that will end up with him lurking in front of Kakashi’s apartment, feeling like a _stalker—_

Rin grabs him by his scarf, pulling him up with a jerk and an offended wheeze, and turns to wave happily at Iruka as he jogs across the yard. 

“Afternoon, Iruka,” she says cheerfully, and lets go of Kakashi as soon as Iruka is within lunging distance. 

“Hey, Rin,” Iruka says with a smile, and then loses it as he turns on Kakashi with narrowed eyes. “Kakashi! Did you really tell Naruto and Sakura to _become vigilantes?”_

Rin’s eyes widen. _“What,”_ she says precisely. 

Kakashi, expression vaguely hunted, looks from Rin to Iruka, and then sighs. “Tenzo is a traitor,” he says blandly, and Rin kicks him in the ankle. Ow. Rin, don’t abuse me, I’ll tell Obito on you.”

Planting her hands on her hips, Rin glares at him. _“Obito_ will take my side, because he is a _reasonable human being_. Kakashi, they’re _fifteen!”_

“I appreciate that their age is your argument, and not the fact that vigilantism is _illegal—ow,_ Rin, _stop that.”_

Pointedly, Rin draws her foot back again. Before she can kick him a third time, though, Iruka steps in, and pokes Kakashi in the chest. “We’re mad that they’re fifteen because _you’re supposed to be a good example for them_!”

“Oh, wow, who decided that,” Kakashi says, inching away. “There must have been a mix-up somewhere in the paperwork—”

“You’re a _teacher!”_ Rin and Iruka hiss at the same time. 

“See? A definite mistake,” Kakashi agrees breezily. “What I _really_ want to be is a mob boss’s kept man. You can be his kept woman, Rin. It will be perfect.”

Inexplicably, Rin flushes pink, and this time she kicks him in the shin. “Kakashi!”

“Ow,” Kakashi says, and eyes Iruka warily. “Are you going to start kicking me too?”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Iruka snaps. “I’d punch you. And _where,_ exactly, did you tell Sakura and Naruto to go to start picking fights with thugs?”

“I didn’t tell them to pick fights,” Kakashi says, aggrieved. It’s mostly a lie, Iruka can tell. “I just encouraged them to get involved in community watch programs and keep an eye on things.”

There’s a moment of incredulous silence as Rin and Iruka both stare at him. 

“Kakashi,” Rin says flatly, “Sakura’s never met a problem she hasn’t tried to punch in the face.”

“At _least_ once,” Iruka agrees, horrified. “And Naruto _is—is—Naruto!”_ And Iruka loves him dearly, but he’s far, _far_ too ready to fight the minute he thinks it’s for a good cause. 

A pause, murderous on two parts and thoughtful on one. “Oh,” Kakashi says, like he’s only just realizing he may have encouraged two of their most trouble-prone students to _go out and get into fights_. “Maybe I should have sent them to the soup kitchen instead.”

Rin smacks him over the head before Iruka can punch him, which is probably the only thing that saves Iruka from getting fired for attacking another teacher. Rin’s his girlfriend; if she does it, no jury on earth would convict her, so that’s fine. 

_“Kakashi,”_ she hisses, and grabs his arm. “Where did you tell them to go? Because we’re going to _find them_ and you’re going to make sure that they know fighting is _wrong.”_

“But we have reservations with Obito—”

“Kakashi! Stop thinking about sex, this is _important!”_

Rin’s voice is just slightly too loud. Kurenai, walking by with Anko, casts her a sideways look, and Anko wolf-whistles. Rin goes about as red as Iruka, and Kakashi snickers. 

“For your information, I was thinking about a romantic night out with my partners,” he says airily. When Rin scowls at him, still red-cheeked, he relents, and says, “I heard them say something about Fifth Avenue.”

Iruka trades glances with Rin. That’s a lot of ground to cover, but at least it’s somewhere to start. 

“I’ll take everything east,” he says. 

Rin tightens her grip on Kakashi. “And we’ll take the west,” she agrees, pulling him away. “Come on, Kakashi, _you_ can call Obito and tell him why we’re going to be late.”

“But _Rin,_ he might have me thrown in the Nakano with cement shoes—”

“Oh, be quiet, all he’ll do is laugh at you, and that’s not the type of person he is—”

“He made me sleep on the couch for a _week,_ Rin—”

“You made Pakkun’s food in his best pot and left it on the floor, and then Bull _ate it.”_

“He didn’t _swallow_ it, he was _fine.”_

“The _pot_ wasn’t.”

Sometimes, Iruka thinks as he watches them go, he’s _really_ glad he isn’t dating right now. As nice as it might be, he could end up with a relationship like _that_, and then his hair would go grey within a week.

Still, Rin is right about there being more important things to worry about right now. Hitching his messenger bag up over his shoulder, Iruka heads out of the school as quickly as he can without actually running, crossing the intersection between cars and heading up two long blocks. Fifth Avenue has a scattered crowd, a handful of students Iruka recognizes, but as he heads down the street he can’t see any trace of pink and blond hair. 

Maybe, he reflects, he should call Sakura’s parents, and Naruto’s aunt. Tsunade is always up to yell at her nephew when he’s doing something stupid, after all, and Naruto is a lot more intimidated by her than he ever has been by Iruka. Not that Iruka blames him for that—Tsunade is terrifying. 

Still, that should probably be a last resort, and Iruka has to _find_ the two of them first. He picks up his pace a little, glancing down streets as he passes and peering into shop windows, trying to spot any sign of Naruto and Sakura. School only ended about half an hour ago; they can’t have gotten _that_ far.

The crest of a fairly steep hill separates their neighborhood from the next, and Iruka frowns a little to himself as he starts down the far side of it, wondering if they managed to come this far. It _might_ be possible—Sakura’s house is a short ways back, and she and Naruto spend plenty of time there—but it’s a bit out of their usual trouble-making turf. Iruka’s been keeping an eye on them, because Naruto’s an orphan like him and he’s finally _happy,_ and—

A shout. A _familiar_ shout, full of indignation and anger, and Iruka picks up a run without even pausing to think. Around the looming grey presence of an old apartment building, down a side street, and Iruka has half a second to take in the sight of Naruto on the ground, just hauling himself up as a slim boy with red hair looms over him, and Sakura being held back by a blond girl and a dark-haired boy. She’s struggling, cursing, but Naruto is about to go for another punch, and Iruka _knows_ about these three. The principal made a point to warn all of the teachers, and if Naruto manages to piss off the son of an _arms dealer,_ it’s going to be more trouble than Iruka can save him from. 

The decision to throw himself in front of Naruto and take the redhead’s punch himself is easy, knowing that. 

A childhood full of fighting lets Iruka take the hit, rock on his heels, and not fall over even as the side of his face explodes with pain. From behind him, Naruto cries out in alarm, but Iruka grabs him, pushes him back. 

“Stop _fighting,”_ he says, and the sting in his cheek adds venom to the words. “I don’t care who started it, _walk away!”_

The redheaded boy stares at him, eye narrowed, but he pauses. “Why would I?” he asks coolly, and Iruka swallows. Cold eyes, a dark expression, and a thread of ice slides down his spine as he realizes that this boy is _absolutely_ willing to use violence to its fullest extent. 

“Move,” the boy says, but Iruka swallows, plants his feet, ignores Sakura’s furious yell and the way Naruto tries to lunge past him. 

“No,” he says, and that wash of fear just makes him plant his feet harder, glare at the boy, because he _hates_ mean people—

“Gaara,” the blonde girl says, cautious, like she can see the threat just as clearly. “Gaara, wait.”

The redhead looks at her, then turns to the street, where a big black car with tinted windows is just slowing. Something about the sight of it makes his eyes widen faintly, and he takes a precise step back as it comes to a stop. The door opens, and—

_Oh,_ Iruka thinks, a little faint. A huge man, tall and broad and muscular, dressed in a neat suit, gets out like this is an everyday occurrence, and he’s _grinning._

“Hey, Gaara,” he says cheerfully. “Temari, Kankuro. Getting into trouble again?”

Naruto pulls hard on his arm, but Iruka doesn’t let go. With a sound of frustration, Naruto yells, “Who’re you?” and tries to advance, only to have Iruka pull him back firmly. 

The big man looks Naruto over, and Iruka has never _seen_ that many teeth in a smile before. “Just a passerby,” he says easily, and turns his stare back to Gaara. If anything, that grin _gains_ teeth. “Does Sasori know you’re picking fights out here?” he asks. 

Gaara’s eyes narrow, and abruptly he pulls away, turning his back on them. “Temari, Kankuro, we’re leaving,” he says curtly. Pauses, not quite looking back, and says, “Naruto Uzumaki. I will remember your name.”

“You’d better!” Naruto shouts, but then Temari and Kankuro let go of Sakura, and he lunges to catch her as she trips. Futilely—Sakura catches herself, then whirls around, and a high kick almost takes off the blonde’s head. She ducks, lunges with a snarl—

Kankuro catches her, and Naruto catches Sakura, and they haul them apart. “Easy, Temari, you can flirt with your fists later,” Kankuro says, and gives Naruto a wicked grin. “You too, blondie. Ow, Temari!”

“Hands off,” Temari says curtly, and adjusts her jacket as she steps out of his hold. Eyes Sakura, dangerous and grim, and then turns to follow Gaara down the street without another word, Kankuro trailing right behind her.

Relief leaves Iruka shaky, and he rubs a hand over his aching cheekbone, straightens. “Thank you,” he tells the man, and then rounds on his students. “What were you _thinking,_ Naruto? Sakura? You can’t just go out and pick fights!”

“They were the ones being rude,” Naruto says petulantly, and Iruka _growls,_ looming over him. 

“So you _punched them?_ Naruto!”

Sakura pulls herself away from Naruto, making a sound like a disgusted cat. “They didn’t even let me get more than one punch in,” she says, like that’s some sort of defense, and Iruka splutters. 

“Don’t sound _disappointed_ about that, Sakura!”

Naruto rolls his eyes, because of course he does. “What are you even doing here, Iruka-sensei? Gaara was aiming for me.”

Iruka presses a hand over his face, then jabs a finger back towards Sakura’s house. _“Go home,_ both of you, or I’ll call your parents right now. And if I hear _anything_ about you picking fights, _with or without Kakashi’s idiotic permission_, you’re going to be scrubbing bathrooms with a _toothbrush_ until you’re _seniors.”_

Thankfully, Naruto has the sense to blanche at that, because he can clearly recognize a serious threat when he hears it. Sakura looks mulishly unrepentant, but she lets Naruto pull her away even as she says, “Temari was _asking_ for it, okay? I was doing a public service trying to pound her face in.”

Iruka tells himself very determinedly that yelling any more will just make a scene, and he can corner them at school next week. Besides, they’re leaving, skulking back towards the other side of the hill, and that’s good enough for now. With a groan, he rubs a hand over his face, turns—

And moves right into a light touch on his chin, one big hand cupping his face and tilting his head up. The big man is frowning faintly, concern clear on his face, and he says, “You’re bleeding.”

Startled, Iruka puts a hand up, and finds he is. Gaara’s ring left a long scrape across his cheekbone, and there’s a trickle of blood, a hot ache. 

“Oh,” he says, a little sheepish. “I didn’t notice.”

The big man chuckles, but doesn’t step back. “That was a brave thing you did,” he offers instead, and his eyes are bright as he looks Iruka over. “Stepping into a fight with those three doesn’t always end so well.”

Iruka grimaces. “So I’ve heard,” he mutters. 

The man cocks his head, watching him with an unnervingly intent gaze. “You know who they are and got in the middle anyway?” he asks in surprise. 

Flushing, Iruka tries not to bristle. “Sakura and Naruto are my students! I wasn’t about to let anyone pick on them! I’m a _teacher!”_

Pausing, the man looks him over, then chuckles again. “Come on,” he says cheerfully. “Let’s get that scrape seen to.” Then a big hand is on Iruka’s waist, and he squawks but can’t resist as he’s hauled back towards the car. Iruka _knows_ what he weighs, but the man moves him like he’s _nothing,_ and a moment later Iruka is unceremoniously dumped on a rear-facing seat, right across from the car’s other passenger. 

_Oh,_ he thinks dazedly, because the man is heavily scarred, wearing a black suit with a purple shirt, and he gives Iruka a long, cold look before turning his gaze to the big man as he slides in. 

“Really, Kisame?” he asks, annoyed. 

There is definitely a knife up his sleeve, Iruka thinks, a little dazed. At _least_ one.

Kisame laughs, settling onto the seat beside Iruka. “It’ll be messy if Rasa wants to start something,” he says cheerfully. “You know how he gets.”

The second man’s grimace says he does, and that’s a whole other thing to worry about, since they’re talking about an _arms dealer._ “Fine, but you deal with the cleanup if it goes sideways,” he says, and settles back as the car pulls away, eyeing Iruka like he’s sizing him up for a coffin. 

Iruka swallows, and tells himself that yelling at the probable-mob-guy is very definitely a bad idea. 

“I—I have to go,” he says instead. “Kakashi and Rin—my fellow teachers don’t know that I found our students, so—”

To his surprise, the scarred man blinks. “Kakashi and Rin?” he repeats, and the line of his shoulders eases abruptly. Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out a phone, and says, “I’ll let them know. You’re from Konoha High?”

“Your two teachers, Obito?” Kisame asks, sounding delighted. He drapes an arm over Iruka’s shoulders with a chuckle, and says, “Look at that, you’re practically part of the family already.”

“Business,” Obito corrects, annoyed, but doesn’t look up from his texting. 

“Family business,” Kisame counters, grinning at Obito’s scoff. He glances down at Iruka, still that strangely intent look, and asks, “How’s your face feel? Gaara’s got a pretty good arm.”

“I’m fine,” Iruka says, maybe a little too loud. His face feels hot from more than just the bruise, and only gets hotter when Kisame tilts his head again, turning it enough to see the scrape. The gentle pass of a thumb brushes away the blood, and a moment later a square of white fabric is being pushed into Iruka’s hand.

“Not too far from here,” Kisame says cheerfully, and glances out the window. “Obito, mind if we stop off at mine first?”

“If you want him knowing where you live, it’s your funeral. Or your search warrant,” Obito says, unimpressed, but he leans forward, reaching right past Iruka’s ear. Iruka freezes, but Obito just raps his knuckles against the glass partition, and when it slides open he says, “Hoshigaki’s building, then back down Fifth, Zetsu. My idiots need a ride.”

There’s a low, almost menacing laugh. “Sure, boss,” the driver says cheerfully, and closes the window. A moment later the car turns, taking a narrow street entirely shaded by trees, then making another turn along the river. Unlike Iruka’s more run-down neighborhood, this one gets progressively nicer, cleaner, the buildings taller. It’s not quite upscale, but it’s definitely a nicer part of the city, and the building they come to a stop in front of doesn’t have a doorman, but it looks like if someone cleaned the brickwork, it probably would. 

“Six tomorrow,” Obito says as Kisame reaches for the door. “And wear a nice tie, not something you got at a tacky novelty shop.”

“I get all of my ties at tacky novelty shops,” Kisame says cheerfully, and laughs when Obito rolls his eye. “Don’t let your teachers screw you so hard you can’t walk. Mei’s not usually impressed by that.”

Instantly, Obito squawks, turning brick red. “Get the hell out!” he snaps, and kicks Kisame in the hip. 

Laughing, Kisame slides out, then offers Iruka a hand. When he takes it, not sure what’s happening but not about to stay in the car with a man like Obito, Kisame pulls him out, setting him on his feet easily. “Later, Obito,” he says, and waves. 

Obito flips him off and slams the door shut. A moment later, the car slides back out into the light traffic, heading back downtown. 

“Come on,” Kisame says, almost startlingly gentle, as he drops a hand on Iruka’s back. High up on his back, Iruka notices, and has to swallow. Polite. That’s—not something he would have expected from a man who looks like Kisame. “I’ve got some bruise cream in my apartment that will help.”

“You have a lot of experience with bruises?” Iruka asks, and then wants to kick himself for it. Prying will probably get him dumped in the harbor. 

But Kisame just chuckles, steering him towards the elevator. “Probably more than most,” he confirms without shame, and casts another look at Iruka’s face. “Will you get in trouble w the school for showing up like that?”

Iruka grimaces, trying to feel the extent of the bruising. “Maybe,” he says unhappily. “Principal Sarutobi knows I used to get into fights, and he might think I started punching people again.”

There’s a pause, startled, and then Kisame laughs. “Fights, huh?” he asks interestedly. “Yeah, you look pretty scrappy. I’d believe it.”

Iruka flushes, not entirely sure he should take that as a compliment, even though it’s clear Kisame intends it as one. He’s been _trying_ to do better, trying not to let his temper take over too much of his brain, but sometimes people are really stupid and it’s _really hard._

“I’m a _teacher,”_ he says, with all the dignity available to a grown man who just got socked in the face by a fifteen-year-old. “I don’t do that anymore!”

Kisame laughs, but it’s not mocking. Just warm, and as the elevator doors slide open on a wide, sun-filled penthouse, he presses a hand to Iruka’s back and guides him forward again.

“Definitely scrappy,” he says brightly, and steers Iruka towards a long sofa. “Sit down and I’ll get the first aid kit.”

“It’s not that bad,” Iruka mutters, but Kisame is already moving away. He sinks down onto ridiculously soft cushions, trying not to stare at anything, but—

There’s a surfboard on a stand by the window that overlooks the river, and Iruka can’t help but be a little charmed by the idea of Kisame as a surfer. The board’s clearly taken care of, well-loved and well-used, and Iruka wonders how long it’s been since _he_ went to the beach, rented a board, and forgot about being responsible for a single day. Years, probably; the fact that he can’t remember clearly is already a bad sign. 

The sound of footsteps makes Iruka jerk his gaze away, and he glances back to find Kisame at the edge of the couch, stripped down to his white shirt and following the direction of his gaze. It’s enough of an opening for Iruka to ask, “You surf?”

Kisame’s expression lights up. “Yeah,” he says cheerfully. “There are some nice beaches about an hour down the coast. How about you?”

Iruka can’t help but smile a little. “I used to,” he says, and glances back at the board, deep blue and patterned with black chevrons that echo the tattoos under Kisame’s eyes. 

With a soft chuckle, Kisame sinks down on the couch next to Iruka, pulling an antiseptic wipe out and opening it. The first brush of it against his cut makes Iruka want to flinch, but he holds himself still, watches the careful concentration on Kisame’s face as he cleans the scrape. 

“If you ever want to start up again,” Kisame says, and there’s contained excitement in his grin, “I’m always looking for a surfing buddy. Obito’s too self-conscious about the scars to get undressed in public, and no one else I know surfs.”

It’s a lot more tempting than it should be. Iruka steals another look at the board, and—Kisame is very obviously a tough, someone involved with Rasa, someone who looks like he belongs in the mob at the very least. But his fingers are perfectly gentle on Iruka’s cheek when he rubs the bruise cream in, and he very deliberately stepped in with Gaara so that nothing would go worse. 

“Why did you stop?” Iruka blurts before he can think better of it. Wants to bite his tongue immediately afterwards, but Kisame has already paused in surprise, hand dropping, and Iruka’s mouth is a thing that runs on autopilot at the very best of times, let alone when a handsome guy is sitting so close their thighs brush. “I—I can’t pay you, and I don’t work anywhere important, and—and if you want sex I’m not afraid to kick you in the balls!”

Oh gods. Iruka slams his mouth shut, feeling himself go red, and—

Kisame laughs. Loud, delighted, full of clear humor and something sweet, and he sits back, shoulders practically shaking as he tries to control himself. 

Iruka stares, and has to swallow very, very hard to keep from doing something stupid. Stupid_er_. 

“Sorry,” Kisame finally manages, and he sets the first aid kit safely aside so he doesn’t drop it. “I saw you get in the way of Gaara’s fist for that blond kid, and I thought it was pretty admirable. Most people would have hesitated, but you didn’t.” Bright eyes hold Iruka’s, and Kisame raises a hand, brushes his cheek. The unbruised one, this time, and it makes Iruka’s breath catch in his throat. Catching that, Kisame smiles, leaning forward. It’s entirely involuntary, but Iruka’s eyes flicker down to where his white shirt gapes, showing a hint of the tank top he’s wearing underneath, the colorful line of a tattoo against his dark skin. The curve of muscle, too, and Iruka has the sudden, mad urge to press his hand there, to push Kisame back against the cushions and see how all that muscle feels.  
  
His mouth is dry, and when he looks up, Kisame’s eyes are focused, intent. _Wanting._  
  
“It’s not a sex thing,” he says lowly, and that grin is a dare. “Not unless you want it to be.”  
  
It’s been—a long time since anyone bothered to proposition Iruka. He swallows, and this time he can’t fight the urge to reach out, slide his hand up from Kisame’s knee over thick thighs. The indrawn catch of Kisame’s breath is incredibly gratifying. “I—you probably don’t like what I do,” he says honestly, even though he can’t make himself pull his hand away. “I, um.”  
  
Kisame laughs, but it’s not mocking. Just warm. “I think you’d be surprised,” he says cheerfully, and gets a hand around Iruka’s elbow. Tugs, gently, and Iruka moves with it automatically, leaning in. Kisame ducks his head, and the first brush of his lips makes Iruka forget how to breathe. It’s so careful, so light, and he presses in, pushes harder. Kisame gives way instantly, and Iruka deepens the kiss, presses him back to the cushions and slides between his thighs. It wrings a soft, deep sound from Kisame’s throat, and big hands close over Iruka’s hips, pull him in tighter.  
  
Getting a knee up on the couch, Iruka tips his head, tests Kisame’s lips with a flick of his tongue, and Kisame opens. When Iruka curls a hand in his hair, he sighs, lets Iruka guide him, gives up control in a moment. Heat curls through Iruka’s chest, stoked with each hungry slant of their mouths, and he presses in further, knee sliding up—  
  
With a hoarse, rough sound, Kisame pulls their mouths apart, tips his head back into the grip of Iruka’s fingers. “If you keep doing that, it’s _definitely_ going to be a sex thing,” he jokes.  
  
His mouth is wet, soft. His eyes are dilated, and his breath is coming unsteadily. Iruka doesn’t feel any more composed, and he has to close his eyes, bite his lip to get enough willpower to pull back just a little.  
  
Disappointment flickers in Kisame’s eyes, just an instant before it’s hidden, but that’s enough to make Iruka lean in, pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth, just chaste enough not to tempt himself into pressing his knee up between Kisame’s thighs. It’s tempting, but—  
  
“Can I say thank you with dinner?” Iruka asks determinedly, and his hand is still in Kisame’s dark hair. It makes it easy to feel the way his head snaps up, eyes widening faintly, and Iruka smiles at him a little sheepishly. “And then—then it can be a sex thing.”  
  
A pause. Kisame tilts his head into the grip of Iruka’s hand, and then grins. It’s a delighted expression, and it makes something turn over in Iruka’s chest, warm and startlingly soft. “That sounds more like a date than a sex thing,” he says, and it’s too hopeful to resist. Iruka leans in and kisses him again, that soft, hot mouth and the way Kisame’s big body strains up against him too much for self-restraint.  
  
“Good, because that’s exactly what it is,” Iruka says, and Kisame laughs and drags him back into another kiss. 


End file.
